AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



141 



TRAGEDIES IN BIRD LAND. 



By Edgar Boyer. 



URING the few years that I have made birds a study, 

 I have witnessed quite a number of what might be ap- 

 propriately termed bird-land tragedies. 



When I say bird-land tragedies I do not include those 

 being caused every day in all parts of the country by 

 the fellow with a gun in his hand, but those that come 

 about naturally. 



One June day while sitting on the porch I heard a 

 loud fluttering in the vicinity of a Robin's nest, then the 

 sharp threatening "Git, git, quick; git I say" followed 

 by more fluttering. When I reached the scene, a Blue 

 Jay slunk away through the leaves and a young Robin, 

 which was pretty well feathered out, fluttered down to 

 the ground. There was but one parent bird in sight 

 and she seemed to be about exhausted from her efforts 

 to protect her offspring. The other Robin had probably met with an 

 accident previous to this occasion — served as a target for some em- 

 bryo Nimrod, who was unlucky enough to hit him, perhaps — any how 

 he was not present. I found the little Robin to be unhurt and placed 

 him in a dense honey-suckle, thinking he would be safe there should 

 the Blue Jay return to look for him. The old bird watched me, but 

 showed no resentment or uneasiness when I handled her little one. 

 There were no more little ones to be found any where around so I 

 judged that the Jay had made more than one meal at the expense of 

 the little Robins lives. 



A few hours later I heard that same commanding cry again and as I 

 approached the honeysuckle the Blue Jay flew up from the ground 

 underneath and was chased away by the excited Robin. At my feet 

 lay the headless body of the little Robin. It seemed to be the will of 

 fate that it should die thus. 



Last summer a pair of Bronzed Grackles built in a large walnut tree 

 in front of my window, placing the nest about forty feet above the 

 ground. 



While the female patiently brooded her curiously scrawled bluish 

 eggs, the male was wont to walkabout over the bluegrass below where 

 he was an object to be admired. 



His search for good things to eat in the way of insects that hid in 

 the grass was so different from the Robin which kept him company. 

 The Robin would make two or three quick awkward hops — stop a 



